


Draco is an MMA Fighter

by ladyroxanne21



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyroxanne21/pseuds/ladyroxanne21
Summary: When Harry sees Draco on the telly fighting in a muggle sport, he feels a powerful rush of lust.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I feel a bit like I'm turning Draco into Barbie - literally able to do anything :-D

Four days before his 23 birthday, Harry found himself arriving at Seamus' house with Ron. It was a Sunday, and thus not a typical night out drinking with his friends. Harry might normally have declined, but he had promised to cover the late shift the next day, and so, didn't have to be up early.

When he and Ron arrived, it seemed as if everyone else was already here. Dean, Neville, George, various other Hogwarts alumni from all houses (shockingly enough), not to mention muggle friends of Seamus' that had been charmed not to notice if any of the many wizards forgot to avoid using their magic. It was definitely crowded in the modest sized entertainment room, but Harry suspected that Seamus – and possibly George – had used a few subtle charms to make sure that there was plenty of room for everyone.

“Harry! Ron!” Seamus called out with a grin. “I was beginning to think you weren't coming!” He handed them each an ice cold bottle of ale and gestured toward the table that was off to the side of the room that was laden with a variety of snacks and finger food.

“Yes,” Ron hissed, happy to be making up for the fact that he had inadvertently missed dinner. Harry followed him to the table.

“As you know, my friend Andy Lagden is fighting in a Mixed Martial Arts fight in about 20 minutes. Thus, you made it just in time,” Seamus called after them. “We're just killing time by watching an MMA fight that took place in the United States almost two months ago now. This channel – Premier Sports – has been playing older fights all day, which has rather put me in a scrappy mood!”

Harry could just barely hear him over the volume of the shockingly large telly. He didn't think that Seamus could afford such a large telly – which was a behemoth that took up an entire side of the room. Not to mention the surround sound speakers.

The announcer on the telly seemed to be shouting much louder than necessary. “Still to come is the highly anticipated fight between Randy Couture and Chuck Liddell, but first, we need to determine the Lightweight Champion. Here comes our current Champion! Born in Nassau Bahamas, Yves Edwards is no stranger to fighting rough and dirty. He's 5 feet 10 inches (177.8cm) and 155 pounds (70.31kg) of extremely focused power! Here comes his opponent, our contender. Born in Wiltshire England and standing 6 feet 4 inches (195.07) tall but also weighing just 155 pounds (70.31kg) is Draco Malfoy!”

Harry was not the only person in the room to basically freeze at that. Each and every wizard in the room suddenly grew silent and whipped their heads to the telly. The muggles fell silent only because they had no idea what was going on and weren't getting responses from Seamus or most of his friends.

Harry – now that his eyes were glued to the telly – was momentarily confused because the man they were currently showing was a rather fit (alright so he was more than just fit, he was mouthwatering) black man. The man was bald but in a gorgeous way, and looked like the perfect mix of lean and muscular. It was plain to see why the announcer accused him of having focused power.

And then the camera shifted to show a tall and lean blond man that was – Merlin's pendulous bollocks! So bloody fit that it should be declared illegal! Harry had to swallow the drool that suddenly flooded his mouth.

Draco's platinum blond hair was short enough that it wouldn't fall into his face but not so short as to be considered shaved. It was also perfectly and artfully styled. He – like his opponent – was only wearing a pair of athletic shorts, which completely showed off his bare chest (complete with scars) and abdomen. He also had defined muscles, but they weren't quite as prominent as Yves Edwards. He looked lightly golden from a tan – which seemed very pale in comparison to the fairly light black skin of his opponent.

Ron cast Harry a suspicious glance before clearing his throat. “Oi! Seamus, did you know that Malfoy was going to be fighting on the telly?”

Seamus shook his head a bit frantically as he nearly sprained his neck while snapping his eyes over to Ron and Harry. “No! I haven't seen or heard of him in nearly five years!”

“Neither have I,” all the remaining wizards in the room added as they looked around at each other. Except for the two Slytherins, who sort of shrugged.

“I take it you all know him?” One of the muggles asked and Seamus muttered an explanation about schoolmates.

Meanwhile, the announcer was giving brief bios of the fighters, informing the audience that Draco had spent a few years traveling from one highly respected fighting master to another. Now, his fighting style was well rounded and he had won most of his professional matches.

The referee called the two men into the center of the eight sided cage they would be fighting in and basically told them to avoid killing one another. Once they both nodded in agreement that they would listen to and obey the ref, he had them go to their assigned corners. The fight was clearly about to begin, but the tension was allowed to build for what seemed like an eon to Harry.

Then the referee gave them permission to start the fight. Both Draco and Yves rushed to the center of the cage and put their guard up while circling each other. Both occasionally closed in for a punch before backing away again. Draco abruptly swept Yves' feet out from under him and dived in for a few punches, but Yves rolled out of the way and aimed a backwards kick at Draco, who didn't quite manage to avoid the whole thing. Even so, he performed a beautiful maneuver that had him back on his feet in about two seconds.

The two fighters circled each other some more before Yves feinted in and back before launching himself at Draco. Yves lifted Draco up in the air briefly and then took him down to the mat. He held Draco by one arm as he punched his face. Draco wriggled free and kicked Yves off of him before flipping back to his feet.

All of the men in the room howled in sympathy as Draco favored his right arm. It was clearly dislocated but either the ref didn't notice or it wasn't against the rules. The two men circled each other some more with Yves closing in and trying land more hits to Draco's injured arm. Draco backed off as rapidly as possible and – the moment he had enough room – kicked Yves in the head.

Yves went down and stayed down. The referee declared Draco the winner by virtue of a Knock Out. The crowd went absolutely insane. Most of Draco's ex school mates – the majority of which didn't even like him – roared in glee; cheering him on over time and distance.

Harry would swear to Merlin and Godric that he nearly squirted in his pants!

Ron was watching him suspiciously again. “Y'alright there, mate?”

Harry had to clear his throat two or three times before he could reply. “Uh... yeah. Yeah, I'm good.”

They all watched as Draco squatted on the mat and watched the ring side doctor and referee attend to Yves. The expression on his face was mostly blank with a mild hint of concern bleeding through. When Yves was more or less aware again, he looked up at Draco and nodded. The two gave each other light fist bumps before Draco nodded at Yves in return.

The Announcer was still in his element. “Looks like Yves Edwards is all right! Draco Malfoy – unlike so many other fighters – is always a gentleman when he wins. Rather than strut around arrogantly and spout vulgarities, he always watches to make sure his opponent is okay. This has earned him the nickname of the Last Gentleman in Fighting.

“But more importantly, I'm sure I'm not the only one who noticed that his shoulder was dislocated during the fight! Thankfully, now that the doctor has finished with Yves Edwards, he's firmly escorting Draco Malfoy out of the fighting cage. I for one, hope that our new Lightweight Champion recovers from his injury quickly.”

Ron pushed Harry into the nearby bathroom and locked the door behind them. “You might want to pull yourself together before everyone out there stops watching the telly and notices you standing there looking like you were just dosed by a bloody lust potion.”

Harry flushed and looked away as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Ron continued. “Look, I get it. You fancy both birds and blokes, and Malfoy was looking pretty good – if you go for that sort of thing. Even so, he's still _Malfoy_. What would everyone think if they saw you drooling over him like that?”

“That I have eyes,” Harry stated, not really ashamed of how he felt. Although, he could see Ron's point.

Ron snorted in amusement. “Yeah, alright.” He tilted his head toward the door and they silently agreed to go get something to eat.

Around 15 minutes later, Harry had eaten about half a plate full of party food and drank about a third of a tall mug of ale. The event they were waiting for finally came on. Seamus was over the moon and hastily hushed all his friends – who were still dissecting Draco's fight.

“Live from Portsmouth Guild Hall in Portsmouth Hampshire,” the announcer began. Then he went on to list all of the fighters – listing them in reverse order that they would fight because the last fight was considered the main event – thus the most important. Seamus' friend Andy was part of the eighth pair. Third from the last was: “Glen Appleby and Draco Malfoy.”

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat and he nearly dropped his plate. “I need some air,” he muttered to Ron as he handed over his plate and got to his feet. As he walked away, he could hear his school mates softly discussing whether he still had a grudge against Malfoy.

The moment he was outside, Harry Disapparated. He'd never been to Portsmouth before, but he had enough deliberation and determination to make up for the fuzzy destination. Besides, he could clearly picture the Guild Hall they'd shown on the telly.

Even though the fighting had begun, there were still a few stragglers in line. When a teller opened up, Harry stepped up, only to be told: “I'm sorry sir. We're all sold out.”

Harry decided to take a risk. “A man told me to mention the code word Hogwarts.”

“Oh, you're one of those VIPs,” the woman murmured. “Yeah, alright, hang on.” She promptly used a phone to make a call. “He says he'll be right down.”

Harry nodded in acceptance and wasn't kept waiting long. He turned out to be Lewis Bagman. Lewis was muttering to himself and not really paying attention to where he was going until he spotted Harry.

“Blimey!”

“Er, hi,” Harry replied awkwardly.

“It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Potter. My dad told me all about the time he met you during the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Yeah, he was an interesting fellow,” Harry murmured, now following Lewis at a rapid pace.

Lewis snorted in amusement. “That's one way of saying it.” He then stopped abruptly and held out a hand. “That'll be 20 galleons.”

Harry paused for a moment because that was the equivalent of a little over 400 muggle pounds. Then he nodded. “Yeah, alright.” A moment later, he summoned that amount out of the tiny pouch he always wore around his neck.

Lewis took the money with a grin. “I gave you a discount because you're you. This way. We have an entire section of invisible seats so that any wizard who pays for the privilege has ringside seats but can't be seen by the muggle VIPs who  _think_ they're the ones closest to the ring.”

Lewis had led Harry into an invisible secret hallway that went right over the crowd all the way down to the ring. They paused mere feet from the end of the hallway – as far as Harry could tell. Lewis gave Harry a serious frown.

“I'm sure you're planning to hex Draco Malfoy – and I've got no problem with that – just _do not_ do so until _after_ he's won or lost his match.”

Harry held up his hands and waved them back and forth as he shook his head. “No! I'm not planning to hex anyone. I just want to watch him fight. And honestly, I think he's going to win.”

“Care to make that an official wager? If you put just 10 galleons on him and he wins, you'll basically earn back what you spent by coming here tonight,” Lewis informed him a bit slyly.

“Yeah. Why not?” Harry asked rhetorically as he summoned the money from his pouch and handed it over.

“Last thing,” Lewis added as he accepted the money. “There's a ward around the cage so that no wizards can cast spells to help or hinder the fighters. I'm not saying you'd do such a thing, but now that you've bet on Malfoy, if you _did_ do something to help him win, he'd be disqualified.”

“Got it,” Harry stated with a nod.

With a nod in return, Lewis finished escorting Harry into the invisible VIP area literally right in front of the ring. Harry was surprised – now that he could see it – to find that the VIP area was a nice and roomy place so close to the ring that he could practically touch the fence. The chairs were plush, and there was a full service bar, complete with a kid barely out of Hogwarts working as a waitress.

She came over to Harry – who was only one of about six other wizards in attendance – and asked to take his order. “I'm Lena and I'll be your waitress today. Would you like to try – blimey! You're Harry Potter!!!”

Harry sort of wished he had thought to wear a glamour. He was used to being recognized by everyone almost instantly, but it always made him inexplicably nervous. Especially when the other wizards turned to look at him.

“Potter?!” A tall and rather gorgeous black man asked incredulously.

“Zabini,” Harry murmured in greeting. Then he turned back to his waitress. “I'll take an ale or a lager, please.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Potter, sir,” the waitress agreed in obviously star struck awe.

“Why are you here?” Blaise demanded.

Harry shrugged. “I was at Seamus' house watching it on the telly without about 50 other blokes, and there wasn't enough room to stretch out my legs. So I reckoned that it might be better to watch from right here.”

Blaise looked like he was thinking this over for a long moment, then he shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Just then, Ian Butlin was declared the winner over Chris Freeborn by virtue of an armbar submission. Two of the wizards cheered and – judging by the galleons that appeared next to them – must have won their wagers. Blaise abruptly turned away and completely ignored Harry, which made sense because he was Draco's best friend and Draco was coming up next.

The louder than he had been on the telly announcer did his job of introducing the contenders. Harry avidly watched Draco, feeling a bit like a shark that had scented some prey. Had he noticed Blaise glance over at him just then, he might have tried to make his expression blank, but it would have been a struggle.

The waitress arrived with his order and Harry realized that his chair was a recliner, so he kicked back and relaxed as he drank. There was a convenient cupholder in the arm of the chair, which he took advantage of. Pretzels appeared in an indent of the arm next to his drink, which he snacked on out of sheer mindless habit.

Now that the announcer was done giving an overview of their biographies, the referee gathered both fighters into the center and stared them down for a long moment. When both fighters nodded in understanding, the ref nodded in satisfaction and gestured for them to get to their assigned sides of the eight sided, fenced in ring.

Without even realizing it, the moment the ref gave permission for the fight to begin, Harry stopped reclining and sat on the edge of his seat. He was watching very intently as both fighters jogged to the center of the ring and started circling each other. Draco could be seen sizing up his opponent for a long moment, and then – not surprisingly – he smirked smugly.

Draco put both of his arms behind his back and simply danced out of the way each time that Glen tried to close in for a hit. When it became obvious that the short but muscular black man was getting frustrated by Draco's tactics, Draco changed it up by kicking Glen in a way that sent him flying for about two feet before hitting the mat. Draco was on him almost instantly, punching Glen's head repeatedly until Glen twisted a leg around Draco's body and reversed their positions.

The announcer informed everyone that Glen was known for his submission holds. Not too many fighters had ever broken free from Glen – which usually resulted in Glen winning. However, Draco proved that he was definitely  _not_ an ordinary fighter by simultaneously blocking the punches to his head and managing to kick Glen away.

Back on his feet a mere second later, Draco launched himself at Glen, who was still trying to stand up. He got in a few punches, then used both hands to help Glen's forehead meet his knee. Glen stumbled backwards and managed to block the next few punches Draco sent his way. So Draco switched to a kick to the head.

This staggered Glen, but it wasn't quite enough to knock him out just yet. He shook his head and ran at Draco, who greeted him with an absolutely gorgeous right cross. This made Glen spin in a half circle and fall to the ground.

“Whoa...” Harry exclaimed softly in awe.

The referee swooped in to see if Glen was planning to continue fighting. At the same time, Draco backed off and sort of bounced lightly on his feet while waiting for the verdict. A moment later, the ref nodded at Draco.

The announcer sounded rather gleeful as he did his job. “And there we have it! Draco Malfoy wins the match by virtue of a Knock Out. I for one am delighted because Draco is known for using his legs to literally kick his way to victory, but this time, he used his fist!”

Harry watched as Draco once again squatted and watched the ref and the on call doctor fuss over his opponent. The moment Glen was declared more or less okay, Draco nodded and left the ring. Harry smiled as it occurred to him that Draco always had been reluctant to hurt anyone – aside from him. Harry had no doubt that if it had been him laying on the mat after a KO, Draco probably would have spat on him and strutted off to wherever he was going now.

There was grumbling for most of the other wizards even as a pile of Galleons appeared next to both Harry and Blaise.

“That Malfoy brat cheated somehow.”

“Why do you say that?” Harry asked with a curious frown.

“How else do you explain him winning?”

Harry harrumphed and shook his head. “Were you not watching? He was clearly going to win from the moment that he sized up his opponent and put both hands behind his back. He was confident, and I think we all can agree that Malfoy confidence goes a long way.”

Blaise looked more than a little shocked. “You bet he would win?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, well, I'd just watched footage of him winning a match after having his arm dislocated. If he can do that, I'm not sure there's much that could defeat him.”

Blaise nodded slowly in agreement, looking grudgingly impressed. For the next four fights, Harry and the rest of the wizards in the VIP area had almost more fun arguing over each of the fighters and their techniques than they had watching the fights. Both Harry and Blaise were surprised to find that they agreed on a lot in regards to their opinions on the fighters.

Then Andy Lagden was announced and Harry held up his hands in a silent gesture asking everyone to quiet down a moment. “This is Seamus' friend. I'm going to have so much fun telling Seamus that I got to see this in person! Anyway I want to pay attention.” He then looked over at Blaise. “Did you know that Theo Nott is actually at Seamus' house right now watching this with Marcus Flint and practically  _everyone_ from our year – well, the blokes anyway.”

Blaise smirked. “Yes and no. I was going to invite him here with me, but when I mentioned the day, he told me he already had plans to hang out with Marcus.”

By this point, Blaise had actually changed seats so that he was sitting next to Harry. The fight had started and Harry pointed at Andy.

“We had to learn various take down methods and submission holds during Auror training. I can already tell that Andy is the type to use his biceps to lock his opponent in a chokehold whenever possible,” Harry remarked.

“Andy's good with his legs too,” Blaise stated with a grin. 

The rest of the fight passed with Harry and Blaise discussing and analyzing Andy's every move. To Blaise's crowing delight, Andy won the match by repeatedly kneeing Laurent Bonafoux until he passed out. This seemed to have earned Blaise a large amount of galleons.

“Why haven't you bet on anyone else, Potter?” Blaise asked curiously.

“I haven't really seen any of the other fighters fight before, so I wouldn't have been able to judge them accurately,” Harry explained with a shrug. “I'd've had to rely on their win/loss stats.”

“Fair enough,” Blaise murmured as the announcer was talking about the next fight. Then he pointed at one of the fighters. “Florentim Amorim is one of us – went to Beauxbatons, if you can believe it.”

Harry snorted in amusement. “No, I can't. How did someone from such a fussy school get into professional fighting?”

“I have no id–”

“ _Potter?!_ ” An utterly posh voice exclaimed in astonishment.

“Ah, there you are!” Blaise half roared in glee as he rushed to hug his friend and pat him on the back. “I was wondering how long you'd take before joining me.”

Draco gave his friend a look of sheer disbelief. “And you're now bosom buddies with Potter?”

“Looks like,” Blaise confirmed with a devilish grin. Then he turned back to Harry. “Oi, Potter, as I was going to say, best hurry and bet on Florentim. He may be from Beauxbatons, but he's a damn good fighter.”

“Alright then,” Harry stated in agreement, waving the waitress over since she was also handling the bets. He handed her ten galleons from the stack of his earlier winnings and told her to put them on Florentim Amorim. Then he smirked. “Amorim can't be his real last name.”

“I think it is,” Blaise replied as he took his seat, an unusually subdued Draco sitting on the other side of him.

“But isn't that,” Harry paused and tilted his head to the side in thought. “Italian for lover?”

Blaise looked impressed. “Portuguese, actually. Ironically enough, he favors winning by using submission holds, and sort of looks like a demented version of a lover while doing so.”

Harry accepted a refill on his lager from the waitress, and then held it up in salute to Draco. “Nice fight, Malfoy. You might find it amusing to know that nearly all the blokes from our year are currently at Seamus Finnegan's house watching the fight on the telly. Plus a few from other years and a handful of muggles. Apparently  _no one_ , not even Theo Nott, had any idea that you were a professional fighter. When Premier Sports replayed your last fight, everyone was in shock. Which made the muggles understandably confused. Anyway, when you won the match, they all cheered. Apparently even rival houses have enough school pride to cheer on a schoolmate.”

Draco frowned as he thought this over. “So wait... You were at your friend's watching the telly, and then decided to drop everything and come watch the fight in person?”

Harry shrugged. “Essentially, yes. It was really crowded there and I was willing to bet that there'd be a VIP area like this to get comfortable in, and I was right.”

Draco decided to mull this over in silence as he gestured for the waitress to bring him a glass of wine. Blaise lightly backhanded Harry on the front of his shoulder. The fight was already in full swing and Florentim looked full of arrogant confidence.

“You see what I mean?” Blaise asked. “He's already planning out exactly how to take down his opponent.”

“He's a pureblood, isn't he?” Harry stated more than asked.

“Yep,” Blaise confirmed. “I think he probably would have been sorted into Slytherin had he gone to Hogwarts.”

Harry laughed. “I wouldn't have pegged Slytherin as the house to produce professional fighters!”

“Right?!” Blaise laughed in obvious agreement. “I would have thought for sure that it would be brash Gryffindors fighting in rings like this.”

“Oh, there have been,” one of the other wizards assured them. “A lot of them, actually. I think young Malfoy here is the first actual Slytherin I've seen fight professionally.”

Draco shrugged. “What else do you do with years of anger that can't be expressed?”

“Bake biscuits,” Harry murmured, focusing on his lager.

“ _Bake_?” Draco sneered with one brow raised.

Harry shrugged. “It's what I do. It's probably a good thing that Aurors are required to exercise regularly, otherwise I'd probably be carrying around an extra stone or two by now.” Harry abruptly sat up rigidly straight and lightly backhanded Blaise's shoulder. “I see what you mean! Amorim looks like he's picturing himself thoroughly buggering Paul Daley in every way possible.”

Blaise laughed heartily. “Which is why I'm hoping he'll be open to going out for drinks tonight.”

Harry gave Blaise an appraising look. “I didn't know you were bent.”

Blaise snorted so loudly that Harry wondered if he'd hurt his nose. “Then you obviously weren't paying any attention in school! I swing both ways and will shag anything that looks at me twice.”

“Then I wish you luck with your conquest tonight,” Harry said in all sincerity.

Blaise grinned at him. “What about you? According to the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, you also swing both ways.”

Harry shrugged, and then smirked at Blaise. “Why? Are you trying to chat me up?”

“Oh definitely!”

Their attention was abruptly called back to the match when the referee rushed in to pull Florentim Amorim off of Paul Daley. Sure enough, Amorim had won by virtue of a rear-naked choke. Harry laughed.

“Well, you just won me more money, so I'll buy your next drink, but other than that, no.” Harry paused to down the last of his lager and beckon to the waitress to bring him and Blaise more drinks. “I'm not going to open the Prophet tomorrow to find out that one of these nosy buggers sold their memory and every word we've said to each other all night is printed verbatim.”

Blaise laughed. “Oh, not every word, I'm sure. Just the ones that lead up to the promise of so many scandalous things.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head, and then pointed to Florentim. “Merlin and Godric! Look at him strutting about like a peacock!”

“Mmm hmm...” Blaise agreed with a tone of obvious appreciation. 

Harry laughed. “I didn't mean that in a good way!”

Blaise shrugged unrepentantly. “Listen, I'm going to go see if I can talk to Florentim. Maybe offer to massage him.”

Draco snorted in genuine amusement. “If he lets you do that, I'm nearly certain that he'll agree to do anything you want for the rest of the night!”

“That good with your hands, are you?” Harry asked with definite interest.

Blaise grinned at him. “Maybe I'll show you some time when there  _aren't_ a bunch of nosy buggers ready to report it to the Prophet!”

“I look forward to it,” Harry agreed with a grin. After Blaise had gone, Harry smiled at Draco. “You know, Malfoy, if you ever get tired of fighting professionally, you could always join the Aurors. We could definitely use someone with your skills.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I'm not sure whether to be offended or just insulted by you implying that I'd ever want to work for the Ministry.”

Harry chuckled as he thought:  _yep, still the same prat he ever was_ .

For the rest of the matches, Draco took over for Blaise, discussing the fighters and their techniques. By the time the main event began, Draco had to admit that Harry knew enough about fighting techniques to hold his own in their conversation. He raised a curious brow at Harry.

Harry guessed at his thoughts and laughed. “You'd be surprised how much we have to learn in regards to fighting techniques each year. Yes, Aurors rely on their magic to quickly incapacitate and incarcerate criminals, but we also have to know what to do if we're disarmed. For example, how to leap out of the way of a hex. And how to sweep a person's feet out from under them. Things like that. I'm not saying I could win a professional match, but I'd like to think I'd make it through all three rounds before getting my arse kicked.”

Draco snorted in mild disbelief. “I tell you what, Potter, if you spar with me, I'll be able to tell you exactly how long you'd last – almost down to the second. My preliminary assessment is that you'd be knocked out in the first ten seconds.”

Harry laughed and held out his hand for Draco to shake. “You're on!”

Draco shook his head in bemusement. “Now all we have to worry about is the Prophet running a story tomorrow that I either have or will kill you in a brutally muggle fashion.”

Harry chuckled. “Perhaps I should owl them to let them know that I am still alive after we're done sparring.” Then he shook his head. “Did you know I occasionally have to tell the Daily Prophet that I'm going on vacation and where just so that I can hunt down a criminal without reporters under foot.”

“Ah,” Draco remarked in a tone of understanding. “So _that's_ why you've gone on holiday in the Maldives four times this year alone.”

Harry snorted in amusement. “And I'm about to go again in a couple of days.” He didn't mention that it was for real this time. He was going to stay at a posh resort on a beautiful island that had the benefit of being smaller and more private.

Just then, Matt Evin won the main fight with a combination of a submission hold and punches. Ross Pettifer hadn't been knocked out, but he had yielded. The rest of the wizards in the VIP area were elated because all of them had taken Blaise's earlier advice and bet on him. Harry had won too and now slipped all his winnings in his tiny pouch. This nice windfall prompted the other wizards to hastily agree to Apparating to the Leaky for a few celebratory drinks.

Which left Harry alone with Draco.

“Are you serious about sparring with me?” Draco asked even as he watched Matt Evin blustering about his win.

“I am,” Harry stated calmly, which amazed him because his heart was suddenly racing.

Draco nodded solemnly and held out his hand. “Alright, then I'll Apparate you to my flat.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry put his hand in Draco's. A moment later, they were standing in what had to be the exercise room of Draco's flat. It was rather impressive with a variety of exercise equipment along with an open area for stretching in and sparring.

“So... what fighting styles have you learned?” Draco asked as he let go of Harry's hand.

“Well, the Ministry has made it standard for all Aurors to learn Krav Maga since it was created specifically to help soldiers incapacitate their opponents as quickly as possible,” Harry explained. “And it basically takes techniques from a lot of other fighting styles. Also, we all have to learn wrestling submission holds.”

“Alright, so you probably have a good grasp of what it takes to defend yourself,” Draco admitted. “So that's where we'll start. I'll start out easy, attacking rather slowly, and all you have to do is defend yourself.”

Harry nodded in agreement. In just five minutes, Draco nodded in satisfaction. Yes, Harry  _did_ have a solid foundation – although there was definitely room for improvement.

“Now we can switch to you attacking and me defending,” Draco suggested.

Harry looked at the ceiling and bit his lip in thought. “Alright, but if we're going to do that, I should get more comfortable.”

“By all means,” Draco permitted, waving his hand as if telling Harry to make himself at home.

A moment later, Harry transfigured his tight jeans into something that was loose fitting to allow for easy movement, but also had a tight waistband to keep it from falling off. Then he stripped off his tee shirt and tossed it – along with his wand – on Draco's bench press. After the fight, Draco had gotten dressed in something rather elegant, but now he also transfigured his clothes into something more appropriate for fighting in. This seriously disappointed Harry – although he did a good job of hiding it – because Draco looked very good in his posh and well tailored clothes. Especially while sparring.

However, seeing Draco without a shirt on again was more than enough to make up for it. Harry bit his lip and took a long moment to focus on the task at hand. When ready, he launched an attack on Draco.

Knowing that Draco could hold his own, Harry had no problems attacking with everything he had. This resulted in a thoroughly satisfying sparring match that lasted a good twelve minutes before Draco swept Harry's feet out from under him and locked Harry in a type of submission hold Harry'd never seen before. It was a variation of a leglock that had Draco using both of his legs to painfully compress one of Harry's.

Meanwhile, the rest of Draco's body was fully on top of Harry's, and despite the pain, Harry couldn't help but moan in longing. He seized Draco's short hair in both of his hands and pulled him close for a hard kiss. Draco had tensed up in preparation for a headbutt, but when he realized that there was kissing instead, he completely relaxed and ran his tongue along Harry's lower lip.

Harry moaned softly as he opened his mouth. His tongue slipped out to meet Draco's, both swirling around each other. Draco took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside Harry's mouth and explore the bumpy ridges on the roof.

Harry moaned again, his hands letting go of Draco's hair to travel up and down his back. Now that Draco's legs were no longer locking Harry's, he shifted just enough to bring their groins into direct contact. They were both rigidly hard and pressing together felt so good that they both groaned.

Their snogging got deeper and more passionate for several long minutes before Draco pulled back with a frown.

“What are we doing, Potter?”

“Shagging?” Harry replied hopefully with a self-conscious shrug.

“And that's it?” Draco wondered.

It was Harry's turn to frown. “What more do you want?”

Draco shook his head. “No. Nothing. I _mean_ that you aren't expecting this to mean anything, are you?”

Harry shook his head.

Draco sighed in relief. “Good, because I'm leaving tomorrow to stay in Thailand for a few months.”

“That's fine, Malfoy,” Harry replied with a small smile. “I promise I won't get mad if you leave after shagging me so hard that I can't walk straight for a week.”

Draco groaned in sheer longing. Before he could remind himself of all of the many reasons why this was a very bad idea, he simply resumed kissing Harry. Harry took this as his cue to grope Draco's cushy arse.

Draco was so focused on kissing Harry that he didn't even notice that the groping was skin on skin for several long moments. Then he frowned because he couldn't recall getting naked. Like at all.

Harry chuckled at Draco's confusion, but didn't explain that he'd used a little nonverbal wandless magic to make Draco's clothes intangible so they could be banished to the other side of the room. Instead, he used his hands to thoroughly explore every inch of the extremely fit body as he could. He also licked Draco's lips to remind him of the very important snogging that needed to be done.

At some point, Harry got frustrated that Draco wasn't progressing faster – having gotten so caught up in kissing that he hadn't even bothered to get Harry naked – that he reversed their positions. Then he took advantage of his ability to sit up so that he could run his hands all over Draco's chest and abdomen.

Draco felt like his brain had turned to complete mush; first from kissing Harry, and now from having Harry's hands roaming wherever they liked. Harry leaned over and replaced his hands with his tongue, licking meandering paths back and forth across Draco's chest, pausing occasionally to suck on those velvety nipples. Draco moaned and arched his back, writhing just a bit each time Harry did that. And then Harry shifted straight down to take Draco's rigid and leaking shaft into his mouth. Not having been prepared for that in the slightest, Draco nearly choked on a gasp.

Just two short minutes of enthusiastic sucking had Draco so close to the edge that he had to hastily seize Harry's hair and yank him up. “Stop! I don't want to finish until I'm balls deep inside you!”

Harry smirked and shifted until he could kiss Draco. “Then perhaps you should do that.”

Draco groaned as those words nearly ended things right then and there. He pressed a finger to Harry's lips. “Shh... I need to cool down a little.”

“I could always do you now and then after we recover for a bit, you could do me,” Harry suggested.

Draco smiled. “I find that there is no downside to this suggestion.”

“Thank Merlin!” Harry blurted out. Not wasting even a moment longer, Harry twirled his hand in a few circles that Draco could feel cleaning him out and preparing him. Then Harry pushed his athletic bottoms down just enough to free his shaft. With no further ado, Harry pushed into Draco, who grunted in pleasure even as he took a deep breath and relaxed.

Neither of them had the patience to go slow. They both wanted it hot, heavy, fast, and hard. Draco hadn't seen Harry's size, but he suspected that it was an average length with quite a bit of extra girth. It was almost too much for Draco, but strangely, that made it all the better. He dug his short nails into Harry's back and ground his hips into Harry with each ramming thrust. Both of them were making noises that were clearly obscene – had anyone been near enough to overhear them, it would have been obvious as to what was going on.

Harry suddenly found that sweet spot inside of Draco that made him feel like explosions were going off in his brain. The involuntary gasp and full body shudder was all Harry needed to make it his mission to pound that spot into oblivion. He wanted to keep going for hours, but maybe only twenty minutes passed like this before Harry realized that the end was not just nearing, but already overwhelming him.

He bit Draco's neck to muffle the embarrassing cry he made as he pumped Draco full. For a split second, Draco whined in disappointment since he had been _so close_ to the end himself. Then he grinned as he realized that this simply meant he'd have the ability to return the favor.

When Harry's powerful orgasm ended, he collapsed onto Draco to pant heavily. Draco simply held him close, stroking his hair and back until it seemed like Harry was calm enough to drift off.

“I think the rest of this might be better if we relocate to my bed.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked at Draco. “Yeah, I think you're probably right,” he murmured with a eager smile.

With obvious effort – since his body wanted nothing more than to succumb to the soporific effects of his recent orgasm – Harry got to his feet and helped Draco up. Now that he was thinking a bit more clearly, Draco decided that Harry was definitely wearing too much. To remedy this, he grabbed his wand and magicked Harry's bottoms off.

Then he spent a good 15 or 20 seconds simply admiring what he saw. Harry grinned and gestured toward the only possible exit into the rest of the flat. “Bedroom?”

Nodding because this needed to happen as soon as possible, Draco simply grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him all the way to his bed. Even though Harry more than likely would have eagerly dived in, Draco took matters into his own hands by sweeping Harry's feet out from under him at the same time as Draco pushed him onto the bed. Harry landed on his back a mere second before Draco was on him, licking and groping every inch of that muscular body.

Harry was half a foot shorter than Draco, and because his Auror training had kept him in good shape, he looked stronger and more muscular than Draco. Which only went to show that looks could be deceiving. Draco was well used to people thinking him too scrawny to hold his own. They were always proven wrong.

“About four minutes into the first round,” Draco murmured as he licked a circle around Harry's bellybutton.

“What?” Harry asked, his brain too preoccupied for that to have made any sense.

“You'd probably make it about four minutes into the first round before you either took your opponent by surprise or were knocked out,” Draco explained.

Harry grinned. “Now I sort of wish I could find out for certain. Would you bet on me or against me?”

Draco laughed. “On you, of course, because the odds would be stacked against you, thus if you managed to win, I'd earn a fortune. Even if I bet against you and you lost, the odds would be such that I wouldn't really win much anyway, so it would just be more fun all around to bet on you.”

“Good to know,” Harry murmured. Then he waved his hand around to cast spells that would prepare him instantly. Draco inhaled a breath as he realized that Harry had done this more than once.

“Wandless...” he whispered under his breath even as Harry pulled on him. Now they were pressed together, Draco laying fully on Harry.

Harry wrapped his legs around Draco. “Now please.”

Draco grinned. “If you insist.”

Unlike Harry's turn, Draco was now in the mood for slow and lazy shagging. He wanted the ability to snog the entire time, which made it hard to go fast. Thus, he entered Harry in no hurry and picked a leisurely pace that lasted a long time. Long enough that Harry fully recovered and got hard at some point, and then got impatient. He whimpered in need, silently begging Draco to speed up.

But Draco was not inclined to give into Harry's pleading. He was enjoying himself far too much to rush things now. The only concession he made was to change his angle a little so that both Harry's prostate and shaft were stimulated with each thrust.

Harry was soon shaking and clinging to Draco as they continually tried to devour each other's souls through their mouths. Unlike the majority of Harry's orgasms – such as the one he'd had earlier – that hit him like a punch to the gut, this one rolled over him like a lava flow; slow to arrive but so intense when it finally happened that Harry felt like he might have just burned up and died.

When Draco felt Harry stop breathing altogether just before his body shook and ripples of orgasm massaged Draco's shaft, he was surprised to find his own orgasm arrive without any further ado. He groaned in sheer bliss as he pumped Harry full, jerking in an uncontrollable attempt to be buried as deeply as possible. The moment he was done, all of his energy evaporated and he passed out.

Harry chuckled when he realized he had an unconscious lover pinning him to the bed. He took the opportunity to simply play with Draco's hair until he fell asleep. Only brilliant sex had the power to make sleeping in this position comfortable.

In the morning, they both woke to the persistent sound of an alarm charm going off. Draco pressed his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered exactly who was curled up with him. He had no idea how awkward this was going to be, and it had the potential to be excruciating.

Harry chuckled. “Sounds like you have to get up and get ready to go. I probably should have went home before falling asleep, but I basically passed out.”

“Yeah, me too,” Draco murmured. Tiny experimental wiggles proved that not only was he no longer laying on Harry, but that Harry was more or less laying on him now.

Harry rolled off him so that he could stretch out as much as possible. A huge yawn escaped him, which naturally provoked a matching yawn from Draco. This made Harry chuckle again.

“If you had time, I'd make you breakfast before leaving, but actually, I don't have to be to work for a few hours yet, so I think I'll just Apparate home and go back to sleep,” Harry stated. He then summoned his wand and clothes from where they'd been abandoned.

As he did so, Draco fumbled around for his own wand so that he could end the alarm charm. The resulting silence was like music to his ears. Harry leaned over and ruffled Draco's hair with a grin.

“Good luck on your next fight. If you're in the mood the next time you're in the country, send me an owl and – so long as I'm not on duty – I'll come over for another good shag.” After that, Harry kissed Draco – a simple firm meeting of lips because Draco was _not_ going to inflict his morning breath on anyone – before Disapparating.

Draco hugged the pillow Harry had used – presumably when he wasn't using Draco as a pillow – and inhaled deeply. He was tempted to linger in bed as long as possible and enjoy the memories. Unfortunately, he barely had time to take a shower before he had to leave.

Slipping from his bed, Draco grinned and decided that – for the first time that he could remember – he was quite looking forward to returning home in a couple of months. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think this turned out quite as hot as I hoped it would, lol!


End file.
